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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27082783">The Midnight Sea</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivegotaheadlineforyou/pseuds/Ivegotaheadlineforyou'>Ivegotaheadlineforyou</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>passed down like folk songs [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hadestown - Mitchell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Based on a Taylor Swift Song, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, generational storytelling, myths, not exactly sure how to tag this one</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 02:08:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,810</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27082783</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivegotaheadlineforyou/pseuds/Ivegotaheadlineforyou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><span></span><br/><em>The grown ups said a lot of things. “Stay away from the House on the Hill.” “The lady up there shouldn’t be bothered. She deserves her rest.” “You wouldn’t want to make the gods mad, would you?” <br/></em><br/>***</p><p>There's a woman who lives in the house on the hill. This is her story.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eurydice/Orpheus (Hadestown), Hades/Persephone (Hadestown)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>passed down like folk songs [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867240</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Midnight Sea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Based on "the last great american dynasty" from Taylor Swift's folklore.</p><p>Hadestown belongs to Anaïs Mitchell. Folklore belongs to Taylor Swift.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">The home on the hill held more mysteries than any one house should. The once small home now looked like a patchwork quilt — extensions aplenty built onto it, the silhouette of it changing year by year. It seemed to look different whenever you looked at it.</p><p class="p1">Or at least that’s what the grown ups said.</p><p class="p1">The grown ups said a lot of things. “Stay away from the House on the Hill.” “The lady up there shouldn’t be bothered. She deserves her rest.” “You wouldn’t want to make the <em>gods</em> mad, would you?”</p><p class="p1">The Gods hadn’t shown themselves for years. It’s as though they’d up and left Olympus, hiding their possessions and ways of life from the eyes of the mortals. Our grandparents told stories. Some of our parents did too. They told stories of dancing through heatwaves, of welcoming the Goddess of Spring once a year, and paying their respects to the Queen of the Underworld 6 months later. Sometimes less. One of the children told stories about the Messenger God coming to their house, kissing their grandmother on the forehead, whispering that “their work here was almost done”. Not everyone believed it. It was only a story, anyways. Just like the house on the hill was only a story. Just like the woman who lived inside it.</p><p class="p1">But some children couldn’t help but investigate. They couldn’t help but ask questions they weren’t supposed to ask.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> the wedding was charming if a little gauche, there’s only so far new money goes</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It was tradition for weddings to be held on Olympus. And there hadn’t been a wedding in many, many years. The Gods couldn’t remember the last time they raised a glass, toasted to Hera’s handy work and to the happy couple. There had already been a wedding, in Hades’ domain, under the ground. The seeds had already been sown, the deed already signed. But tradition was tradition. And as the gods pulled further and further away from their own mythologies, traditions were important to maintain.</p><p class="p1">The wedding was a sight to see — overflowing ambrosia, lush fruits dipped in gold. Persephone had quickly handed things over to Hera, allowing her to plan whatever celebration she wanted. The Deities all wore their ceremonial chitons, their laurel wreaths made of gold and sparkling diamonds. The Muses played loudly, their music and poetry sliding and shifting into beautiful symphonies.</p><p class="p1">Persephone was dressed in white — her chiton much more lavish than it often was. She was decorated in black diamonds, rubies, sapphires — all gifts from her husband. In her hair was nightshade. Hemlock. Asphodels and irises. Demeter was dressed in black. Everyone tried to ignore Demeter’s own mourning ceremony that drifted throughout the halls. Persephone didn’t notice. Her eyes barely left those of her lover — her husband. Hades was her husband now. No need for midnight romps in the top soil. No more washing her dresses secretly in the stream. No more hiding. No more secrets. He was hers. <br/><br/>Well. For six months, at least.</p><p class="p1">“When can we leave,” Persephone whispered into his ear as they danced, chest to chest, heads leaning towards one another. “You’ve still not seen the house, husband.”<br/><br/>Hades kissed her forehead, a soft smile on his lips. The Gods looked on, and whispered about the last time they had seen the King of the Underground smile, passing rumours back and forth as though they were champagne bubbles that floated to the top. They couldn’t keep their secrets to themselves.</p><p class="p1">“Whenever you wish to, my love,” He whispered, his deep voice rattling in her ears, making her shiver and press closer to him. “I do look forward to seeing your new home.” She continued to sway with him, loved the feeling of his hand on her waist, loved the feeling of her head on his shoulder.</p><p class="p1">“Your home too,” she whispered, trying to deepen her voice to his level. It caused him to chuckle. “Remember that it ain’t just me getting a new realm. If I can be Goddess of Spring <em>and</em> Queen of the Underworld, you got at least a little claim to the spring time.” She knew that their situation meant she would be stuck in a liminal space — her home up top dying everytime she left to see her kingdom below. Her King and Kingdom suffering every time she needed to bring spring back. But it was fine to wish.</p><p class="p1">When they made their escape, they snuck out the back, and made their way to the small village near where Persephone was raised. Close enough to the gates of the Underworld, but far enough from her mother. As they walked up the pathway, hand in hand, Hades was taken aback.</p><p class="p1">“D-do you not like it?” Persephone asked, the first crack of her heart audible in her voice.</p><p class="p1">Hades squeezed her hand. “Just not what I expected. I thought that a queen would reside in something more…” his thought tapered off.</p><p class="p1">“Something more lavish?” She supplied for him, a bright smile on her face, and a laugh in her voice. “Something filled with diamonds and gilded thrones? Something befitting a queen?” Hades smiled and nodded. “We’ve already got a castle, my love,” she reminded him, as they continued up the laneway. Pomegranate trees grew on either side of the path, all the way from the base of the hill to the gardens at the top of it.</p><p class="p1">Persephone looked back at the house on the hill. She looked at the soft green of the facade, at the red door, and the wooden window sills and although she wished and hoped she wouldn’t always live there alone, she had an inkling that she would.</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> there goes the last great american dynasty</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I don’t believe you!” a little voice called out. She crossed her arms and glared at her playmate. “This place isn’t fit for a lowly nymph! Goddess Persephone would have never lived here!”</p><p class="p1">“It’s true! My grandpa told me! He said he used to come up to the house when she came home for the spring time!” The little boy was proud of his story. Anyone could already tell that he would inherit his grandfather’s height. He grew up on stories of the Goddess and her parties. His grandfather even showed him a bouquet of dried flowers that the Goddess Persephone once threw to him.</p><p class="p1">“Well, your grandfather’s a liar!” She said to him. They were standing at the gate at the bottom of the hill, looking up at the big house. The sun was setting and the pink purple skies threw shadows onto the house. She had moved to town with her mother when she was a baby, he rationalised in his mind. She doesn’t even <em>know</em> anyone who met the Gods.</p><p class="p1">“They used to dance,” he continued on, his hands on the bars of the gates. “They would dance and drink and have parties with lots of food. And cakes!”</p><p class="p1">“Okay, <em>genius</em>,”the little girl responded. “But she doesn’t live there now. So who is the old woman? And how did she get this place? Did she steal it from a Goddess? From a Queen?”</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> they say she was seen on occasion, pacing the rocks, staring out at the midnight sea</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">In the aftermath of Hadestown, Eurydice was weak. She was frail, and tired, and had trouble keeping food inside her belly. Her body shivered and Orpheus was afraid she would break all of her teeth from the sound of them chattering. Persephone housed them for the summer, giving her food and warmth and a bed to sleep in.</p><p class="p1">She spent most of her days sleeping. Orpheus took up his watch beside he. He slid into bed to hold her when she shivered. He brushed her hair each night, and patched the cuts that littered her body. Put ointment on her burns.</p><p class="p1">Persephone left early each morning, at daybreak, to visit each farm and garden within her reach. She blessed the grain that was finally starting to grow tall. She took her shoes off and walked through the rows of vegetables. She took her meetings in the middle of orchards. She was slowly rebuilding, slowly letting her apology seep into the soil, allowing herself to start the spells and blessings that she knew would have the time to grow.</p><p class="p1">She returned at sunset. She felt exhaustion in her bones but fireflies in her veins. She felt alive for the first time in so, so long. She entered the home and made her way out to the new extension that she had hired some villagers to make. She wanted Orpheus and Eurydice to watch her home in the winter time, and so they would get their own small apartment, connected to the house by a long hallway. She had tried to offer the home to them once before, but Eurydice flat out declined.</p><p class="p1">“Persephone, we aren’t taking your home away from you.”<br/><br/>“You sweet girl,” she said, patting her arm. They were walking the property lines, checking in on the flowers that bloomed under the light of the moon. The heat of the day knocked Eurydice off her feet, but the warm night breeze, and the sound of the waves crashing on the shores below them were relaxing. “I ain’t said I was giving it to you.”</p><p class="p1">“No, but you want us to have free reign over the place, and take care of it and make it ours,” she murmured. “Sounds like you’re trying to give it to us.”</p><p class="p1">The Queen chuckled, looking up at the big moon hanging in the sky. “I just want you to be comfortable. Don’t want you to let your pride starve you. Let you freeze.”</p><p class="p1">Eurydice followed her gaze to the harvest moon. Big and red in the sky, it served as a gentle warning to all who could see it — the Queen was leaving soon. The King coming to claim his bride. “We’ve starved before. Froze before. We made it through before.” Eurydice did all she could to mask the fear and pride that lived in her tone.<br/><br/>Persephone rolled her eyes and bumped her hip against the young girl’s. “I’d rather not tempt a surprise performance in the underworld from your poet again. You’ve seen the underground once, and the next time you see it, the fates might not be so kind as to let you back up top.” Persephone stopped and turned to face Eurydice, the moon at her back, the light of the house ahead of her.</p><p class="p1">“Stay here. Use the preserves, and help yourself to the cellar. Build big fires in the main room, and keep your poet warm, and let him keep you fed,” she said, leaving no room for interjection. “I want it feeling like home when I get back. Nothin’ like leaving my man and arriving back into a sterile house. Wanna come back to a home, girl.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> free of women with madness, their men and bad habits and then it was bought by me</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Grandpa tells me that the songbird hasn’t sung in a long time. Not since her poet died.”</p><p class="p1">“He <em>died?”</em> the girl gasped. “But you just said that he made it home! He brought both of them back from the Underworld and they lived together happily!”</p><p class="p1">The little boy rolled his eyes. “For a while. But they weren’t gods. They were just people. My grandpa went to the poet’s funeral. So did Misses Kim, and all the grown ups.”</p><p class="p1">The girl crossed her arms indignantly. “But how did the songbird get the house? Is <em>she</em> the reason why the gods fled Olympus?”</p><p class="p1">“You attribute too much power to me, child.” The sound of a voice like softened leather startled them. As they turned, they came face to face with a short woman, skin softened by time, and eyes that held millennia inside of them.</p><p class="p1">“When the gods retreated, we stayed to help keep up the property,” she said, shifting her shopping bag on her arm. The two children’s mouths hung open, not realising that their gossip had been overheard by the Songbird herself.</p><p class="p1">“A-are they coming back?” The young boy asked quietly, putting his hands behind his back and ducking his head. The songbird reached out, place a finger below his chin and tilted it up. He looked into her dark eyes, and though the skin was creased and littered with signs of age, he could see the fire that was held within.</p><p class="p1">“You look like your grandfather,” she said, her voice both heavy and lilting at the same time, like she was soothed by some reminder of her youth, while she grieved it at the same time. He blushed and tried to duck his head, but she wouldn’t let him. “I don’t know when they’ll come back. Don’t know what happened to drive them so far away for so long. But I promised Persephone I would keep the place in order. And I keep my promises.”</p><p class="p1">“Why don’t you sing anymore, songbird?” The girl asked, her voice louder than it needed to be. The old woman, with the rings on her fingers and the flowers in her hair, turned to look at her. The young girl immediately shied away a little, intimidated by the gaze that fell upon her.</p><p class="p1">“Got no one to play for me,” she said, a hint of a smile in her voice. “Saving my voice for someone special.”</p><p class="p1">And with that she adjusted the bag that she held, pulled the key from around her neck, unlocked the gate, and began walking the long drive up to the house. The two children watched as she slowly made her way among the pomegranate trees and the wildflowers that had grown on the lawn. They squinted when she got too far away, saw her enter the home and shut the door.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>who knows if i never showed up what could have been</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">They spent most nights gathered around the fire in the winter. Orpheus with his guitar in one hand, Eurydice with a book in hers. Persephone had the most wonderful library, and it was nice to do something while Orpheus played. But tonight Eurydice couldn’t focus.</p><p class="p1">“Orpheus?” she asked, her voice low and soft. His head perked up and he slowed his playing. When she had his attention, she bit her lip. “Do you think Persephone is coming back?”</p><p class="p1">She had left weeks ago, but her final day was imprinted on Eurydice’s mind. She was panicked, running about the house in a frenzy. Turning plants in different directions, grabbing seemingly useless objects and throwing them in her bags. Her closets were empty, her drawers ransacked.</p><p class="p1">“You’ll watch the place until I get back?” She asked, her voice tight. “You have to promise me you’ll watch the place until I get back. No matter when.”</p><p class="p1">Eurydice remembered rolling her eyes. “Yes,” she had responded. “Always do, Seph. Always.”</p><p class="p1">Orpheus sighed, his shoulders dropped. He loosened his grip on his guitar and placed it in front of him. Eurydice took the opportunity to grab her blanket and move over, sliding into the space in front of him. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, his arms going to wrap around her.</p><p class="p1">“I don’t know,” he whispered against her hair. She relaxed into him, and he held her tighter.</p><p class="p1">“And we haven’t seen Hermes in weeks,” Eurydice noted. She felt the poet nod against her. “Think something’s happenin’ with the gods?”</p><p class="p1">“Maybe?” he said with an upwards lilt at the end. He wasn’t sure. “But whatever happens, we have to take care of her home.”</p><p class="p1">“Our home, too, you know,” Eurydice said with a smile. She could feel Orpheus smile too, and she leaned away just to be able to look up at his face. So bright, she thought.</p><p class="p1">They never learned what happened to the gods. But every year, like clockwork, the spring still sprung, and the autumn fell upon them. The harvests were steady, and the weather mild most of the time. Orpheus and Eurydice took over Hermes bar that first summer and kept it up. They worked Persephone’s gardens, and pruned the trees. Enlisted some friends to make pomegranate wine near the end of the summer.</p><p class="p1">Time came and went and the gods still hadn’t returned. Their friends had children who had children of their own. The gods became myths, and the world fell into a routine of it’w own, no longer affected by kings and queens and their trains.Eurydice was granted many years with her poet before he passed. She prayed to Hermes that he would be there to take care of him — to take him somewhere safe.</p><p class="p1">But she still keeps the house in working order, waiting for the day the gods will return to see their creations. to see that they worked together to keep the world in tune. In time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The third work in this series! One of my favourite songs off the album, and I had a lovely time writing this one.</p><p>Come scream with me over on tumblr! @brightas-arose</p><p>Thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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